


A Moment of Stillness

by FictionalKnight (Northern_Star)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 18:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_Star/pseuds/FictionalKnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Brent suffers a concussion he finds that good things do sometimes come from ending up on IR.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Moment of Stillness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shoemaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoemaster/gifts).



Brent yawns and stretches, waking up after having fallen asleep on his living room couch during an _I Dream of Jeannie_ marathon he'd sort of been watching out of sheer boredom.

It's been three weeks now since the hit that threw him so hard against the protective glass that he slid limply down on the ice afterwards, unable to get back on his feet by himself at all. Three weeks of feeling dizzy and nauseous all the time, and being stuck at home, away from the ice and the guys, and everything he knows and loves; everything that makes his life worth living. He's sick of spending most of his days alone, cooped up in here with nothing to do but watch TV, play video games, feed the dogs and sleep, because dammit it's pretty much all he's able to do right now--everything else makes him feel sea-sick which acts a constant reminder of how miserable he is because he can't play.

He's not always completely alone, of course. The first week he was out of the lineup, all of the games on the schedule were home games, and so the guys would show up, sometimes after practice, sometimes after games, even. Tazer came over a few times, once with Kaner and Soupy in tow. Sharpie has been by as well, and Duncs, of course. Duncs has come by more times than Brent can really remember, but then he wouldn't have expected any less from him. But the guys have been on the road for about a week now, and pretty much all that Brent has to keep him company besides his dogs are a few random phone calls, most, if not all of which, are from Duncs.

They're not due back in Chicago until the next day, and by now Brent is so very bored that he's spent more time than he would care to admit blankly staring at the walls, trying to develop some sort of mental superpower that would help him fix whatever the fuck is wrong with his head and make the stupid concussion symptoms go the hell away once and for all, because this is damn near the worst thing that's ever happened to him.

What's worse is that even though he's barely stepped outside in the last week, and the only human contact he's had has been with the kid who delivers his groceries and the guys who've brought him the takeout food he'd ordered, Brent has somehow managed to catch the flu. So on top of being bored, alone and miserable, he's sick, too!

The digital display on his DVR tells him it's a little past six o'clock, meaning that there will be a game soon, and he perks up at the thought, though in the meantime he really has nothing to do at all. The TV remote is out of reach, so with a chuckle, he holds both arms in front of himself, one folded over the other, and he gives a sharp nod, blinking with both eyes. In his mind he imagines the cartoony little 'boing' sound that accompanies the gesture on the TV show. He looks up at the TV, as if expecting that this might actually have made the channel change. It hasn't of course, but that doesn't stop Brent from trying a couple more times.

Since it's not working with the TV, he starts thinking of other things he could make happen, like food popping up on the coffee table right out of thin air, his cold being cured, his head being fixed... None of it works, obviously, and he's still sitting at home, all alone, bored, sick and now hungry.

He wishes someone would show up for a visit, even tough he knows it's not going to happen--not when the guys are playing in another city tonight. But Brent still wishes for it. He wishes for Duncs especially, because he's bored, sure, but dammit he misses Duncs pretty bad right now. Under normal circumstances they're all but joined at the hip--so much so that their teammates crack jokes about them being practically married--and being apart for long stretches of time really sucks when Brent is so miserable in the first place.

As he's just about to nod and blink one last time, wishing for the impossible, the doorbell suddenly rings. Brent looks around, confused, not quite believing his ears on this one. He gets up and slowly walks toward the door, eyes growing wide when the doorbell rings again. It wasn't an illusion, he realizes, mood hovering between delight and confusion--he doesn't really have any magic powers, does he? Well, until a few minutes ago, he didn't think so, but right now, he's not so sure anymore.

He hurries to the door, cracking it open just enough to see who's on the other side. He's not actually expecting anyone, after all, and for all he knows this could be an annoying door-to-door salesman, or worse...

When he sees who it is that's standing on his doorstep, Brent's jaw drops open. "Duncs? Shouldn't you be in--" he thinks for a moment, trying to remember which city "--um...Nashville? Atlanta? Something like that?"

"Raleigh," says Duncan, and he shakes his head. "Came straight here, figured you'd be bored as hell by now." He waits a moment, then asks, "You going to let me in?"

"Oh. Huh, yeah, yeah," Brent replies and he moves out of the way a little, frowning as Duncan walks inside.

"What? Something wrong?"

"No, I just--" Brent scratches at his temple. "Why are you back early? Isn't there a game tonight?"

It's Duncan who's frowning now. "The game was this afternoon," he says.

"Wha--? This afternoon?" Brent's shoulders slump, his expression turning from confusion to sadness. "I missed it," he says in a small voice. "I missed the game."

"Aw, you didn't miss a whole lot," Duncan replies with a shrug. "We lost. Again. You need to get better, man, because we're starting to suck without you."

Brent chuckles sadly. "I wish I could." Then he turns his head sharply and sneezes into the crook of his elbow. "Sorry," he says afterward, sniffling.

He sneezes again, and a third time after that, forced to lean against the wall for support, as his head has started to spin. He curses under his breath, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, and wordlessly lets Duncan lead him back into the living room.

"This sucks," Brent says in a loud sniffle, and he curls up in a tight ball on the couch. "You should probably not hang around here, you'll catch what I've got."

"I'll take my chances," Duncan tells him, patting him gently on the head. "You hungry? Want some soup? It'll make you feel better."

"Okay," Brent says, nodding slowly. "Don't know if I have any left, though."

Duncan disappears into the kitchen, saying he'll "figure something out," and promises to clean the kitchen up once he's done. He comes back less than ten minutes later with two bowls of soup and a box of crackers. He sets everything on the coffee table, and sits down on the couch, nudging Brent who's got his eyes closed.

"Eat," he says, "You'll feel better. It's chicken noodle." He chuckles before explaining, "Well, no, it's chicken broth with whole wheat linguini, 'cause that's all you had. Should be edible, though."

"Smells yummy," Brent says with a smile, reaching to grab a bowl. "Thanks."

They eat in companionable silence, then set the empty dishes on the coffee table before leaning back into the couch cushions again. The TV is still on, with reruns of _Bewitched_ now playing. While Duncan reaches for the remote and starts looking for something "from this century" to watch, Brent grabs the fleece blanket he has lying on the armrest, sliding his arms into two sleeves sown onto the blanket.

Duncan looks at him, amused. "Is that--?" He tugs on the material. "You're wearing a Snuggie? For real?" he says in a bout of laughter.

Brent gives him a dirty look. "Oh shut up, I'm cold okay?" he complains, shivering as if to prove a point.

"Aw, c'mere," says Duncan and he wraps both arms around him, running his hands up and down Brent's arm as a means to help him warm up.

"You shouldn't be allowed to go on road trips when I'm sick and miserable," Brent says after a moment, eyes fixed in the direction of the TV, though he's not really registering what he sees on the screen. "Thanks for the soup, by the way. And for, you know, coming over and hanging out. I missed having you over."

"Anytime," Duncan replies softly, squeezing Brent tightly for just a second before letting go. "I hope you feel better soon."

Brent nods, but his expression becomes darker and after hesitating a moment he asks, "What if I don't? My head, I mean, what if I keep having dizzy spells? What if it my head never gets back to normal again and I can't play anymore?"

Duncan contemplates him for a second, frowning. "That's not going to happen," he says, nudging him with his shoulder. "You'll be back in shape in no time, you'll see. Besides, you wouldn't want to leave me out there forever without my best partner, would you?"

"I'm not the best," Brent snorts.

"You are to me," says Duncan. His expression is honest and he seems completely serious.

Brent frowns a little, sniffling loudly. He wipes at his nose, as though it's just the cold that's causing this. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You're too nice sometimes, you know? Love you for it, though." Deep down, this has always been a sort of universal truth, but as he utters the words, Brent realizes in just what way he really means them.

"I know," Duncan replies in a small chuckle.

"No, no," Brent immediately says, turning so he can better look at him. "I didn't mean it like that, Duncs--" He shakes his head. " _Duncan_ ," he says, making a point to use his teammate's actual first name for once. "I mean..." He hesitates, unsure that he's making the right move, but decides to take the plunge anyway. "I mean I love you." There's a small shrug and a tiny, uncertain smile.

"I know," Duncan insists. He smiles before going on, "I love you too." Then he leans in just a little and presses a small kiss on Brent's forehead. "You big oaf... Now hurry and get better, okay? Because at some point I think I might want to kiss you for real."

"Okay," says Brent obediently.

He settles against the cushions again, letting his head drop onto Duncan's shoulder, smiling at the irony that something nice might actually have come from having gotten this stupid concussion.

 

/End.


End file.
